The Boy Who Disappeared
by Asoggycrumpet
Summary: Harry was home alone when Voldemort arrived. After being wounded in his attempt to kill him, Voldemort fled the scene and crashed into the bedroom of Ron Weasley. Ron is heralded as the Boy-Who-Lived, and Harry is hidden from his parents, growing up in an orphanage. How will Harry's Hogwarts experience change when he isn't famous? Will he be reunited with his parents? AD/W bashing.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, however I do own the legal rights to JK Rowling's life, and I will sue anyone that disputes it.

Welcome all, to my first fic!

I'm very excited about this as I have spent far to much of my own free time to be healthy lurking and reading on this site, and have decided to finally bless you all with my own attempt at writing. Please note that I have never written anything longer than 2000 words, I am not professional, but I am British (so don't even think about britpicking me). I will point out to anyone that attempts to tell me I am spelling the word 'colour' wrong that the English have been speaking the language longer than anyone else, in fact we invented it, and so your spellings are objectively wrong (also I will delete your comment, account, and life.).

This is a romance story, although it may not seem like one at first, but will also have some rather dark themes. There will be Dumbledore and Weasley bashing, so if you don't like that kind of thing don't read this (not because it may upset you, just because I don't respect your opinion.). Rated M for language, themes, explicit scenes and maybe some smut (I'm not too sure if I'll include any yet, so don't hold me to it.).

I'm not likely to post often, so don't get mad if I'm quiet for, like, 6 months straight. I put a lot of time into planning this fic but would love to hear your suggestions and feedback, and will reply to each and every comment I receive (deleting them counts as replying, right?). If you do spot any typos let me know and I will correct them, but don't forget to let me know how much you hate my writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my fic, don't forget to rate and review.

Yours soggily,

Asoggycrumpet

* * *

Voldemort stalked up the driveway to the Potters' house, fiddling absently with his wand. On that cold October night, the streets were void of the residents of the iconic wizarding town, and he walked unopposed towards his target. He felt himself pass through the wards surrounding the house, and smirked to himself about the Potters' poor choice of secret keeper. Wormtail was loyal to James Potter, there was no doubt about that, but Voldemort could provide the one thing James couldn't – safety. Peter Pettigrew was a coward through and through, and if there's one thing that cowards want, it's safety. Of course, the Potters' residence was only the first on his list of children to kill. Once he had dispatched with young Harry, he would move on and eliminate his other potential rivals.

The Potters' house in Godric's Hollow was charming, and Voldemort was almost sorry about what he would do inside. Almost. Ivy crept up the side of the Victorian cottage, the once red bricks faded by years of miserable English weather. There would be no resistance of course; James and Lily were at the Ministry along with every other member of the Order. Voldemort had ordered a huge siege of the iconic building, a diversion to leave households empty and children defenceless. Even the old fool Dumbledore was there. Granted, taking the Ministry would still be helpful for him, but the success of his current mission was paramount. Even if he lost all his forces at the Ministry, he would still have succeeded in his mission and be unopposed in the entire wizarding world.

The black painted gate of the front garden swung open without him needing to touch it. He glided into the garden that the Potters had worked so hard to keep tidy, and stood still for a moment to appreciate the fruits of their labour. Such a shame that their memories of the house would be forever tarnished by what was soon to occur there. The night sky was speckled with bright stars, and the full moon cast a romantic light over the serene house. As Voldemort approached the front door, he reached out with his magic and the hinges split and cracked, leaving the door standing unsupported in its frame. Voldemort smirked to himself and pushed it over with a gentle touch, the sound of splintering wood as it hit the floor alien in the deathly quiet night. Slowly taking the stairs, Voldemort reached the landing of the first floor and approached the first door on the right, the only one with any sound coming from behind it.

The soft breathing of Harry Potter was interrupted by the swinging open of the door to his bedroom. The infant opened his eyes, expecting to see his parents returned from their outing but meeting the cold, calculating stare of a stranger. Green eyes met red, and Voldemort sized the child up. He was sitting innocently in his crib, clutching a blanket in his tiny, pudgy fists. Not seeing his mother, he started to cry, wailing for his parents to return and replace the stranger. Voldemort looked down at the child in disgust. Merlin, he hated children. He even disliked the thought that he had been a child himself once. Harry didn't show any signs of stopping crying, and it was starting to get on Voldemort's nerves. Steeling himself, Voldemort raised his wand at the child and muttered the incantation that he had used more times than he could remember.

"Avada Kedavra"

A brilliant, bright green light filled the room and struck the child in the face, before rebounding and hitting Voldemort in turn. He felt his mind being ripped from his body and a floating sensation that was quickly clouded by the unimaginable pain he started to become aware of. Every nerve he had access to was burning with the fire of the Phlegethon, and agony wreaked havoc across his usually well-organised and collected mind. He didn't even have the brain function to wonder what had happened due to every neuron he had trying to alert him of the incredible infliction that had befallen him.

Following his animalistic instincts to get away, Voldemort took his wraith form and burst through the nursery roof, shattering the windows and creating a gaping hole in the top of the Potter household. Not knowing where he was going, half blinded by his agony, he flew wildly away from the ruined cottage and out into the night sky. Unbeknownst to Voldemort, he was flying towards the nearby town of Ottery St. Catchpole, more precisely, a house on the outskirts of the little hamlet, named The Burrow.

He felt himself collide with the roof of the amalgam of rooms that was the rickety house, yet experienced no more pain as he was already at his receptive threshold for it. Splintering wood accompanied him as he burst through the attic into the nursery on the top floor. He crumpled in a heap in the corner furthest from the door, and lay still, finally succumbing to the curse that was intended for another.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump, was confused. He was confused as to why Voldemort had yet to show his face in the battle that he was losing. Not that Dumbledore's side was really 'winning', as they had lost many, many fighters already. But surely, someone as smart and cunning as Voldemort wouldn't wait until he had all but lost to show his face. There were no other forces in the entirety of Britain that he could be saving for the finale; just about every magical creature on the island was present. It simply didn't make any sense for him to wait this long. Unless… unless he wasn't going to turn up at all. Unless Voldemort was on a more important mission. Dumbledore realised Voldemort's plan and apparated away with a sharp 'CRACK'.

An identical sound could be heard outside the Longbottom residence, an old house similar to that of the Potters, yet on the other end of Godric's Hollow. As their secret keeper, Dumbledore had access to the house and opened the door without even needing to unlock it. Bounding up the stairs rather spritely for his age, Dumbledore quickly arrived at the room inhabited by a crying infant. Crying, but alive. Dumbledore breathed out a sigh of relief. It wasn't the Longbottoms.

He apparated to the front of the Potter household, on the opposite side of Godric's Hollow, and realised that he needn't check any other houses. It was clear from the burning husk that was the roof of the house that Voldemort had been and left. But Dumbledore knew the implications that it carried. Voldemort had marked his equal, and the child was dead. A great weight placed itself on Dumbledore's shoulders as he realised by asking the Potters to accompany him at the Ministry, he had sealed the fate of their son.

Dumbledore had to be sure though, and made his way through the ruined interior to the nursery he knew to inhabit the corpse of the cheerful, giggling baby he had known.

But as he drew near, he heard what could only be recognised as the crying of a child. Bursting through the doorway, Dumbledore was met with the sight of a weeping child surrounded by the rubble of his room. A scar, freshly cut, in the shape of a lightning bolt was obvious on his forehead. Dumbledore's mind was racing; putting together the pieces of the situation, trying to decipher what had occurred. The child was alive, but it was obvious Voldemort had been there. The child must have fulfilled the prophecy and defeated him. If that were so, he would be heralded as a hero for the rest of his life. A wave of relief washed over him. He would not have to tell the Potters about the death of their son, and he knew it would break Lily if he did.

However, Dumbledore couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He could sense death in the area, but it was more of a lingering status of the perishing. Those close to death often emitted strong magical auras, the soul's attempt to remain alive, and the bedroom that he stood in was not nearly heavy enough with the eldritch as the site of the defeat of Lord Voldemort should be. Someone that determined to cheat death would put up one hell of a fight. He reached out with his senses, trying to detect what had happened. He felt the trail of magic leave through the roof and travel through the sky, and decided to follow it on the ground, apparating every couple hundred meters to correct the vector of his travel according to the magical breadcrumbs left by the Dark Lord.

The trail grew stronger the further Dumbledore tracked it, and it eventually led him to the smoking building that belonged to Arthur Weasley, a member of his Order. He knocked on the front door, knowing Arthur's wife would be at home. Instead however, it was opened by a young boy with bright red hair, no older than 10.

"What do you want?" demanded the boy, suspiciously. He Dumbledore up and down as if sizing him up for a fight.

"I should like to speak to your mother, young man. It is rather a matter of urgency."

"What's your name?" Dumbledore took on his most grandfatherly smile and replied,

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I believe that something has fallen through the roof of your house, and I came to investigate."

The boy's eyes widened at the name, and stammering slightly, ushered him in and up the stairs.

Dumbledore entered the room at the top of the stairs, and took in the scene that presented itself. Splinters of wood covered the floor, and dust from the attic above masked the colour of the walls. By the cot in the corner of the room stood a dumpy, redheaded witch who was cradling a child in her arms. She was smiling, but there were tears streaked down her face. In the adjacent corner was a stain that could only be described as dark. It seemed to suck at the light of the surrounding walls, and was accentuated by a pile of ash that Dumbledore realised to be the remains of the Dark Lord he had been fighting since the 60s.

Dumbledore turned to the redheaded witch.

"Mrs Weasley?" The woman looked up and realised there was someone else in the room.

"P-Professor Dumbledore? What's g-going on? W-what happened?" she stammered, holding the child tight to her as if he might attempt to steal it. Thinking fast, Dumbledore put together a plan in his head.

"Mrs Weasley, I am pleased to tell you that your son has defeated the Dark Lord. That scar he bears," he pointed to a small gash on the right cheek, "will forever represent the foe that he overcame and will stay with him for life. It is the result of the killing curse that he survived, and that rebounded to end Voldemort's life." Molly gaped at him.

"You mean," she said in disbelief "that my infant child defeated the most powerful dark wizard alive? Oh Ron, I knew you would achieve something amazing, I knew it from the moment you were born!" Dumbledore, slightly shocked at how gullible Mrs Weasley was, bid her goodbye and returned to the Potters' residence

Now for the second part of his plan. It was regrettable, what he had to do, but it was for the greater good. He took young Harry in his arms, wrapped him in the blanket he clutched and apparated to an establishment that he knew would suit his purpose perfectly, an orphanage in London, one that had a reputation for accepting children with criminal behaviour. Dumbledore had visited before to meet with potential students at Hogwarts, and had been shocked at the amount of bullying that occurred from the older residents.

In order for his plan to work, Harry would have to have no sense of self-worth, and be willing to sacrifice himself for the first people to show him kindness. This place would be perfect for such a purpose. Once Dumbledore showed up in ten years to collect the boy, he would become his hero immediately. Not wanting to have anything lead back to him, he left Harry on the doorstep of the large house. Before he left, Dumbledore levelled his wand at Harry and started muttering incantations. It was old magic, a series of spells he had learnt of whilst travelling Bulgaria. They would make sure no one discovered the boy's true identity, no matter how hard his parents looked. Satisfied with his work, Dumbledore apparated back to the Ministry.

Upon arriving at the battlefield, he was met with the sight of wizards and creatures ripping each other apart. Such a waste. Casting the _sonorous _charm on himself, he spoke across the battlefield that was still locked in its mortal coil.

"Lord Voldemort is dead." He announced, the sound of his voice echoing across the cavernous ministry hall. This caused much of the fighting to stop and look up at him, "I have just returned from the Weasley residence, where he attempted to do off with their youngest son, Ronald. Young Ronald, only an infant, managed to survive the killing curse that was cast at him, and rebound it upon Voldemort. The Dark Lord is dead, the war is over."

A cry came from the ranks of the death eaters,

"He lies, no child could defeat the dark lord!" A roar of agreement came from his comrades, but many looked nervous. Suddenly, there was a loud crack as a death eater apparated away. Then another. And another. Soon the air was filled with the sound of scared death eaters fleeing the battle, unsure weather to heed the words of their enemy or to fight. A cheer of victory rose from the Ministry's forces, and they attacked the remaining foe with newfound vigour.

* * *

James and Lily sat together on the bottom step of the fountain that occupied the lobby of the Ministry. Once housing a huge golden statue, the fountain had been reduced to rubble and was now little more than a pond with chucks of marble in it.

"He's gone." Whispered Lily, her head resting on her husband's shoulder "He's really gone." James squeezed laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. He put an arm around her back and pulled her closer.

"We can be a family now. Just you, me and Harry." He rested his own head on the top of hers. Lily loved it when he did that, it made her feel safe. She knew that if the whole world collapsed he would still try to protect her. After a while of simply enjoying each other's company, Lily extricated her head from James's and pulled him into a kiss.

"I love you." She told him, looking into his deep brown eyes. James grinned,

"Bet I love you more. Not that it's a competition or anything…" Lily rolled her eyes and kissed him again. He never failed to make her laugh; it was one of the things she loved most about him.

"Mr and Mrs Potter?" said a voice. Lily looked up to see the sombre visage of Albus Dumbledore.

"Albus," replied James before frowning, "what's wrong?"

Dumbledore sighed resignedly, looking all his 100 years. Lily wasn't sure when she'd ever seen him look so sad, and she had fought a war by his side. Whatever was troubling him, it must have been bad.

"I'm afraid that the Weasley house was not the only residence that Voldemort visited tonight. There was another, one where the child was not as lucky as young Ronald." Dumbledore gave them a moment to digest what he had just said before continuing, "I'm so sorry."

Lily was confused. Who was he talking about? From the expression on James's face it seemed he knew, but Dumbledore hadn't told them which house was attacked.

"Who was attacked?" she asked looking between James and Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked at his feet sheepishly, obviously trying to avoid eye contact. She met James's eye and saw the pain in them. The obvious grief that he felt over what Dumbledore had told them was evident in his eyes, and she realised all of a sudden who they were talking about. Lily felt her knees give out. She felt James catch her. She heard James ask Dumbledore if he was sure. But she didn't register any of it. Harry… her Harry was gone. No. He couldn't be. She refused to accept it. The overwhelming grief of the situation addled her brain, constricting her thoughts and creating a raging tempest of sorrow in her head.

"Lily!" she snapped back to attention at the sound of James's voice, "Check the locket." He added softly, holding her up. She tentatively reached one shaking hand into her robes and pulled out a locket.

It was gold, with swirling ribbons wrapping across the front. She opened it, praying she wouldn't see what she believed she would. Inside the locket were two pictures, one of her and James, another of their son Harry. Harry's photo was as clear as it ever was, which meant… Harry was alive. He was alive. Her son, Harry James Potter, was alive. It was the only thing she could think about. "See?" James said, "If he was gone then the picture would go dark. It's enchanted to do so." He had a pleading expression on his face, as if convincing Dumbledore of the fact would bring Harry to them.

"I don't know what to tell you," replied Dumbledore, sorrowfully. The anguish in his eyes was real, he hated to see two of his most loyal followers suffering like this, but he knew it was for the greater good. "I saw your house. The door was blown off its hinges, and there was a gaping hole in the roof above young Harry's room. When I looked inside, I found no child."

"So he's out there somewhere." James concluded, wrapping his arms around Lily and pulling her gently into his embrace. "We need to go find him."

"I will try my best," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. He knew the Potters would never find their son, he had made sure of that, but he needed to keep up the pretence that he wanted to help. After all, he was Albus Dumbledore, and Albus Dumbledore helped everyone.

* * *

**10 years later**

James found Lily reading a book on the living room sofa when he came home from the Ministry. As head of the DMLE, James was always working late hours, often to sort out meaningless conflicts between squabbling departments. His wife looked up at him as he entered the room, and she smiled brightly.

"Hey love, long day?" she asked, shuffling across the sofa to make room for him and patting the space next to her. James obliged, sitting down heavily and putting an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled in close to him and placed her head on his chest, her arm wrapping around him. After coming home from her job at the Daily Prophet, Lily liked to sit and just read, taking in the peaceful silence that was their home, though she would have preferred it if she could hear her son upstairs.

James sighed and kissed the top of her head; "The treasury is still refusing to increase funding for the DMLE despite the increase in crime recently. I had a look through what the Ministry is currently spending, and it turns out Arthur Weasley is being paid the same salary as half my aurors combined. He's the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts for crying out loud! The only reason they pay him that much is that his son is the Boy-Who-Lived." Lily was quiet after this, and James realised he had been ranting again. "Sorry Lily, I know you hate it when I do that." She looked up at him and kissed him.

"I don't mind about that, it's just all that Boy-Who-Lived stuff. It gets on my nerves." She choked slightly on the last word, and James saw her eyes were red from crying.

"Lily? What's the matter?" he asked in a concerned tone. James knew she had never gotten over the loss of Harry, and was very protective of her. Lily looked at him and smiled sadly; glad she had him to talk to and to look out for her.

"Harry would be getting his Hogwarts letter today." She all but whispered, tears starting to form in her eyes. James pulled her into a tight hug but didn't say anything, knowing that Lily just needed someone to hold on to and a shoulder to cry on.

"J-James?" She asked, looking at him expectantly, "Could we maybe… could we go to the platform? If he's alive, there's a chance he'll be there and we can find him. I think that it's worth-"

"And what if he isn't there?" James interrupted, looking at her seriously, "What if we wait until the train has left and he still hasn't shown up?"

"But if he's alive-"

"I won't set you up for failure, Lily." Said James, and then he added, "I care about you too much." Lily looked angrily at him and made to say something, but James continued, "That doesn't mean that I don't care about Harry too. I do, I really do. I want nothing more than for us to be reunited with him. But I know that if he's at Hogwarts, Albus will tell us." Lily looked down and drew circles with her finger across the back of his hand.

"I know," she murmured quietly, "I just want to be able to see him." She took out the locket, as she did every day, and opened it. The picture of Harry remained as it was that fateful night almost 10 years ago, but both her and James had aged in their frame. The locket showed the person how you remembered them, and as she hadn't seen harry since he was one, that was how it showed him. Just the fact that she could see his picture gave her hope that she might one day find him, but as the years past she grew less and less sure. She missed her happy, giggling baby that she had loved.

* * *

Harry looked at his own picture in his locket, the only evidence that he had ever had a real family. He certainly didn't consider his fellow orphans family. Between the daily beatings he received from Craig and his gang and the meagre meals the social workers gave him, Harry hadn't ever looked forward to arriving back at Payne's Institute for Disreputable Orphans, and that was, in his view, the most important part of a home. Harry had always dreamed of finding his parents, but knew there was little chance of him ever meeting them. He'd settle just to be fostered, just to get away from this place, but for some reason whenever visitors came to adopt a child they always seemed to look over him, like their eyes had simply not realised that a child stood before them.

He'd always thought that strange, why wouldn't any of them look at him? It wasn't like he was particularly ugly or badly behaved, and compared to the other orphans he was positively an angel. He stared down at his image in the locket, his bright green eyes and lightning scar obvious to anyone who looked at him. Craig loved making fun of Harry's scar, told him it was because his parents had dropped him on his head when he was very small and as a result Harry had become incredibly stupid. In reality, Harry was actually quite intelligent for his age and had already surpassed Craig, who was 16. That wasn't saying much though as Craig had had to repeat Year 7 twice, and planned on dropping out of school as soon as he had passed enough GCSEs.

The strangest thing about his locket was the fact that it always showed him at his current age, and moved. The social workers had told Harry that the locket had been in the folds of the blanket he was wrapped in when they found him on their doorstep, and he had had it ever since. So how, he wondered, did it show a picture of him aged ten-and-almost-eleven when he had never changed the photo since the age of one? And how did it move? Maybe there was a camera hidden in the locket, and it took a photo of him when he looked at it, or maybe one of the social workers was changing it when he was asleep. Maybe it wasn't a picture and just a screen, and that's why it moved. None of those sounded particularly likely to Harry, but then again, the only other explanation would be… magic.

He pulled his eyes away from his unusual memento of his parents and looked around his room. 'His room' wasn't really the best way to describe it; it was more the room in which he slept. Lining the walls on three sides were five bunk beds, inhabited by the other preteens that the orphanage housed. In total, the small room had 9 orphans between the ages of ten and twelve sleeping in it, which made sure that Harry never had any privacy. Currently in the room with him were three others, two helping the other to pack as he was leaving the orphanage. There was a knock at the door, and Harry turned to see one of the social workers, a short, overweight woman named Sarah. She looked around the room before spotting him and saying "Harry? There's a man here to see you."

Harry stared at her in surprise. Someone was here to see him? No one had ever even looked at him before, let alone asked for him.

"A-Are you sure? He asked for me by name?" Harry asked in disbelief, searching her face for some kind of cruel trick or joke. Sarah looked at him as if he was being stupid, before continuing,

"Well, not exactly by name, but he said he was looking for a ten year old boy with green eyes and black hair. He said he had come to offer you a position at his school." Harry was confused; he didn't know why someone would come to the orphanage to offer him a place at a school. It wasn't like he had applied to any.

Tentatively, he followed Sarah downstairs into the large hall that housed the front door. Sarah led him through one of the side doors into the meeting area where he saw the person who had requested him, an old man who looked to be at least a hundred years old. He stood near the window, gazing out of it at the bleak, dreary Saturday afternoon, and when Harry entered he turned and smiled. He wore long grey robes that fell to his ankles with a gold trim, and had a long grey beard that reached his waist to match. He had half-moon spectacles balanced delicately on his nose, and a benevolent smile on his wizened face that further added to his grandfather demeanour. All in all, he looked rather bizarre.

"Ah, hello young man. It's a pleasure to meet you." The old man smiled at him, his eyes twinkling. He reached out his hand, which Harry shook, before sitting down on one of the sofas. Harry mirrored his action and looked at him expectantly, wondering what on earth he could want with him.

"I'll leave you here with Professor Dumbledore, okay Harry?" Sarah asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Like the rest of the social workers, they feigned care for Harry whilst in the company of those who weren't resident at the orphanage, but showed their true disdain when in private. After her mentioning his name, he thought he saw a flicker of fear in the old man's eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. Harry murmured his assent without taking his eyes off the old man, 'Professor Dumbledore' as Sarah had called him. So he was a Professor then?

He dressed in such an odd manner that Harry thought he might just be mad.

"My name, Harry, is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, but you should just call me Professor Dumbledore. I am headmaster at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it has come to my attention that you have earned a place there. That is to say, Harry, that you are a wizard." Harry thought he was joking and waited for the old man to smile humorously, but Dumbledore simply looking at him as if gaging his reaction. Harry realised he was being serious; he genuinely believed that Harry was… a wizard? So like someone that could use magic? But magic wasn't real; he must have been referring to something else.

"What do you mean 'I'm a wizard'?" Harry asked,

Dumbledore smiled at him again in his grandfatherly manner.

"Have you ever done anything that you couldn't explain… anything that simply happened because you hoped it would?" Harry thought about it. Often strange events occurred when he was nearby, but he had never seriously attributed them to himself. His life in the orphanage hadn't been pleasant, the others had labelled him a freak for the things that seemed to happen around him. Maybe he really was a wizard.

As if he knew what Harry was thinking, Dumbledore smiled and continued, "At Hogwarts, you will be able learn how to use magic in the finest institution for it in the world."

"How do I know you aren't just making this all up?" Harry said, realising he had yet to be shown any proof that magic was indeed real. He knew it should have been the first thing that occurred to him, but for some reason the idea that he was magical didn't really seem that alien to him. Dumbledore smiled at him knowingly and drew a long, thin, knotted, wooden stick from inside his robes. He raised it into the air, and waved it in a strange pattern whilst saying "_Orchideous_."

A bouquet of flowers burst from the tip of the stick, and landed in Harry's lap. Harry stared wide-eyed at them, his expression a vision of disbelief. He looked back up at Dumbledore who was amusedly watching Harry's reaction.

"How-How did you do that?" Harry's jaw was wide open. The implications of magic being real had only just occurred to him, and he was well and truly stunned. Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling and replied,

"Magic. And with training Harry, you can do the same. At Hogwarts you will learn all about magic and how to use it. You will learn a great deal on many subjects, such as Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology and Runes to just name a few. So- what do you say?"

Harry thought about it before coming to a conclusion. Harry was very exited at the prospect of going to a school for magic. For one, Harry would be able to get away from this place and he might finally meet people like him if he went to a school for wizards, and maybe even make some friends. He had never had friends before, Craig had made sure of that, and the chance to finally meet people that liked him was more enticing than anything he had ever experienced.

"I accept. As long as I can stay away from here as much as possible, I think that it'll be a good idea."

"Excellent! I shall come pick you up from here in two days time, and we shall go shopping for your school things." Harry looked thoughtful for a second before asking,

"Sir… well I don't have any money for school things… or even for school fees. How am I going to pay for all of those?" Eyes twinkling, Dumbledore gave his best grandfatherly look before assuring Harry,

"I shall pay for them myself, Harry. You needn't worry about it."

Harry was overjoyed. He was finally leaving this place, to learn magic no less. And all for free! No one had ever shown Harry so much as concern before, let alone paid for his education. Professor Dumbledore truly was eternally kind if he would do such a thing for Harry after only just meeting him.

"Thank you so much, Professor. I look for to seeing you on Monday." Dumbledore smiled benevolently at him before replying,

"And I you, Harry. Well, I've taken enough of your time up and I must take care of some errands myself, not to mention explaining the situation to your guardians. I'm sure you have a lot to think about, so I will leave you be. Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye, Professor." Dumbledore left the room, and Harry lent back on the sofa he was sitting on, sighing to himself. He was a wizard. And it felt great.

* * *

Word count: 5534

I hope you liked the first chapter, there will be more but I don't know when.

Review or JK Rowling will hunt you down.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Though Harry Potter isn't mine, it could be yours. Just think about that for a moment.

Chapter two! Yay!

Thank you very much for all the positive feedback on the first chapter, it means a lot and is the reason I am making another so soon.

As I write new chapters I'm going to be trying out different styles of writing, so don't be surprised if it looks like the first four chapters were written by different people. You'll probably also spot me using themes and plot devices from other fics along the way, so if you do recognise anything tell me in a review!

I'm going to be skipping the Diagon Alley scene as it'll be essentially the same as the canon version, except that Harry doesn't get Hedwig in this one and he doesn't meet Draco Malfoy (essentially the only two important bits of the canon scene.).

Some of you have been asking how Dumbledore expects his plan to work. The spell I had him cast on Harry is similar to the _notice-me-not_ charm, but subtler and more permanent. I don't want to give away too many details, but suffice to say Dumbledore isn't going to have his plans skewered as soon as Harry reconnects with the magical community.

I will answer all your comments at the bottom, so check it out for **bonus information. **Any comments that come after the second chapter is up I will just PM the answer to unless I think it's something worth sharing. This will apply for all future chapters. Also make sure to check if your question has been asked in the comment section before yeeting me in the reviews.

I also need your help on the subject of smut on this site. According to explicit content is not allowed, but there is obviously a great deal of it on the sight, some of it very old. Considering that the ban on explicit content was placed in 2002, I would say that the moderators of the site don't really care. If any of you who know more about the subject could enlighten me, I would be very grateful.

In any case, please let me know what you think of this chapter, no matter how scathing, as it can only improve my writing. Rate, review, enjoy and tell me about your fursona.

Forever damp,

Asoggycrumpet

* * *

Harry stood alone in the vast halls of King's Cross Station. Professor Dumbledore had told him that to get onto Platform 9¾ you had to run at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, but Harry still wasn't sure that it would work. Despite the train leaving at 11 o'clock, Harry had arrived at the train station 3 hours early just to make sure he could get through.

Harry knew that everyone had to come through the same way, and as roughly 280 students would be boarding the train it would be difficult to miss them. He would simply tag along with one of the magical families and enter the hidden station without having to worry about breaking his neck from running into a brick wall.

Harry sat down on a nearby bench and thought about the events of the last few days. He had been dreading the start of term, as he was moving into the senior school and would be a much easier target for Craig's gang, before the mysterious Professor Dumbledore had showed up and promised him a new life of magic and wonder, where pictures moved and wizard went shopping in hidden alleys.

Before his trip to Diagon Alley with Dumbledore, Harry was still uncertain weather it was a huge joke or not. Dumbledore had certainly played the part well, but he could have just been an actor hired to deceive him and give him false hope. It wouldn't be too hard to picture someone pulling a trick like that on him, despite how ridiculous, as nobody really liked him and most found it funny to watch him struggle.

Any doubt he had was washed away when he stepped into Diagon Alley. The street was chock full with strange and unusual people, all wearing funny clothes and chatting about the strangest things such as 'quidditch' and 'muggles'. Harry had never heard of any of these things, but was too busy gaping at the shops to dwell on them.

Lining the street, packed tighter than seemed possible, were dozens of stores selling a wide selection of products from broomsticks to pondweed, vanishing dust to self-writing quills. Harry could have spent all day looking through the shops and still not have discovered half the things the magical street had to offer.

Dumbledore had bought him the basics that he would require for school, quills, parchment, potion supplies and a wand. Mr Ollivander, the man who sold him his wand, had been very interested in it, but Dumbledore had ushered Harry out before he could elaborate.

Harry had asked Dumbledore if he could get a pet, but the wizened professor had told him that the only pets worth having were owls and Harry wouldn't even need one of them as Hogwarts had many that he could borrow.

Sitting on his bench, Harry saw people entering the station that were dressed in a fashion that could only be described as 'odd'. They were a family of three, a man and woman who looked to be the parents of the young boy with them. The boy appeared to be about his age, and had round, but not chubby features. His father, a kindly looking man with short brown hair, was holding his suitcase whilst his mother, a slightly shorter witch with shoulder length wavy black hair, held his hand.

Harry knew at once that they were wizards, and watched as they approached the barrier he sat next to. The boy's father went through first, walking quickly towards the barrier and seemingly passing through it as if there was nothing there. Realising that the boy and his mother were about to follow suit, Harry called out to them.

"Excuse me," Harry stood up and approached them as they turned to look at him,

"Could you show me how to enter the platform? I'm new to this whole magical thing and I'm not really sure how to do it."

The woman smiled at him before replying, "Of course. You can enter at the same time as us. You must be a first year, like my Neville here." Harry nodded and aligned himself with the pair in front of the barrier.

Harry stared at the brick wall, and the brick wall stared back. It seemed like it was daring him to run at him, an unspoken challenge in the stony expression of the old masonry. "Ready?" came a voice to his left, and Harry nodded his head.

The three walked briskly towards the barrier and Harry screwed up his face, bracing for impact, but it never came. His legs just kept moving forwards without meeting the brick wall that they were sure to. Harry opened his eyes slightly, and realised that he was not in the same room as he had been a few seconds ago.

Unscrewing his face altogether, Harry looked around the place he had entered. The huge glass halls of iconic railway station were still there, but all the trains had disappeared, being replaced by one big, red and black steam engine. On the front of the old locomotive was the number '5972' and the words 'Hogwarts Express'. Harry stared in awe at the impressive vehicle, taking in its dozens of gleaming carriages and the smoke that billowed out from underneath it. As there was still a good two and a half hours before the train left, the station was empty.

"Impressive huh?" A voice from beside him shook him out of his reverie, and he turned to see the father of the boy extending a hand in his direction, "I'm Frank, Frank Longbottom. This is Alice, my wife, and my son Neville."

Harry shook Frank's hand replied, "I'm Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you all. Are you wizards?" Harry realised he sounded quite eager, but Alice just laughed and said, "Yes, we are a wizarding family. I assume you're a muggleborn, as weren't aware of how to get onto the platform. Speaking of which, where are your parents? Should we go find them?"

Harry was surprised by the concern in her tone, having never seen an adult bar Dumbledore display it towards him, but replied quickly, "I don't have any parents. I've lived at an orphanage since I was a baby." Seeing their expressions grow more concerned, he added, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself though, it's only things that all muggleborn struggle with that I need help with. Thank you, by the way, for showing me how to get through."

Alice looked worried, but then smiled at him and replied, "That's quite alright Harry. Do you need any help getting your trunk on the train?" Harry shook his head and headed over to the nearest carriage, hefting his case onto the top step and making his way up. The long corridor of the first carriage sported 10 red doors on the right side, and 10 wide windows lined the left. Harry opened the fourth door along, and looked around the space he would sit in for the next 11 hours.

Lifting his trunk onto the shelf above the seats, Harry heard the compartment door open and a voice ask, "Do you mind if I sit with you?" Harry turned to see the boy, Neville, standing in the doorframe holding his case in his right hand and a rat in his left. "Sure" he replied, moving aside slightly to let him in.

"This is Trevor, by the way. He likes to run away." He gestured towards the rat in his hand, which promptly leapt towards Harry in a bid for escape. Harry, using lighting fast reflexes, caught it in his right hand and held it in front of him. It was fat, brown, and all together unremarkable. He handed the rodent back to Neville, who accepted it graciously before grinning at him, "Thanks. Don't be surprised if he does that a couple dozen times today, I think he hates me. Nice catch by the way. Do you play seeker?"

Harry looked at him quizzically, not knowing what a seeker was. "You mean like in hide and seek?" Neville laughed and shook his head, obviously amused by Harry's answer. "I forgot that you're a muggleborn. In the wizarding world we play a game called quidditch, a seeker is one of the positions. You have to have really fast reflexes to play seeker, which you obviously do. You should try out for the house team, as long as your flying's good."

Harry was about to ask what on earth he needed to learn to fly for, before Neville added with a grin, "That is, if you're in my house." Harry laughed at this, and then realised how odd it was that he was having a pleasant conversation with another boy his age. Most of the time when he talked to his peers, it ended in him being insulted, assaulted, or both. This caused Harry to stop laughing rather abruptly and frown slightly, which Neville noticed.

"What's wrong?" he asked looking confused as to Harry's sudden change in mood. Not wanting to worry him, Harry quickly assured him, "Nothing, nothing, I was just thinking about something." He then added, "You were saying about how I need to be able to fly to play this 'quid-thing'?"

Neville smiled, then continued to explain the rules of quidditch, the positions, brooms, and professional teams. Harry listened in rapt attention, partly as he was riveted by anything magical, and this game was simply brilliant, and partly because he was glad the conversation wasn't about him.

"So," Harry began as Neville finished his quidditch monologue, "The beaters have to try and knock people off their brooms, who are 50 feet in the air, to stop them from scoring goals that have essentially no effect on the end result of the game due to the snitch being worth 15 goals. Isn't that… unnecessarily dangerous?"

"Well when you put it like that… yeah I'd say that's a fair assessment. I never really thought about it like that. It's not like any one dies – much – and no one's ever tried to make the rules more fair." Neville looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, "You should write a letter to the Department for Magical Games and Sports! I'm sure they'd at least listen to your suggestions."

"The department for what?" Harry hadn't any idea where this 'department' was or what it did. Maybe it was a section of Diagon Alley where all the sports shops were?

Neville looked confused again, before his eyes widened in realisation, and he said, "I keep forgetting you don't know all this stuff. The Department for Magical Games and Sports is one of the departments of the Ministry of Magic. That's the magical government basically. That department in particular is in charge of the laws and rules regarding magical games and sports, hence its name." Harry simply nodded, slightly stunned that there was another government running in Britain.

The two boys chatted amicably, mainly with Harry asking Neville all about the magical world, and Neville asking Harry about the muggle one.

* * *

After a while, they heard the carriage door open down the hallway, and someone's footsteps sound as they walked down the corridor. Harry and Neville stopped talking, and Harry got up to open the door only to find it opened for him just as he was reaching for the handle. In front of him stood a pretty girl with bushy brown hair and big brown eyes. It seemed she hadn't seen him, as she had her face buried in a large red book and only looked up when the cover of her book bumped into his chest.

The girl looked up, seeing him, and gave a surprised squeak. She dropped the book she was holding and went to pick it up, but Harry beat her to it. He bent down, scooped up the book and presented it to her, looking at the cover, which read 'Hogwarts: A History'.

"Sorry," she mumbled looking quite flustered, "I didn't expect anyone to be on the train so early." She looked positively furious with herself that she wasn't the first person on the train.

"Would you like to sit with us?" he asked. She looked at him with a shocked expression, clearly not having expected him to offer to her a place in the compartment. Harry mistook her expression for one of contempt, and hastily added, "It's fine if you don't want to, I was just offering."

"No! I mean, no, I'd be glad to sit with you. I was simply surprised you offered, that's all. I'm Hermione by the way, Hermione Granger."

"Neville Longbottom," said Neville, speaking for the first time since Hermione had showed up, "and this is Harry… actually I don't know your last name." Both Neville and Hermione looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to give his surname. The matter of his surname had always been a delicate subject for Harry, as in school he was registered as 'Harry Payne' after the orphanage he lived in, but he always truly despised the name, it was just another reminder that he had no family to identify with.

Realising that he was most likely registered with it with Hogwarts, and it was his legal name, Harry decided to explain it to the two of them. "Well, my legal surname is 'Payne', but I'd rather you didn't call me that, because it's the name the orphanage gave me and I don't particularly care for it."

"You live in an orphanage?" Hermione asked, before realising how invasive she had sounded, and added, "I'm sorry! That was rude. I'm – I'm sorry about your parents." She said the last part rather quietly in an apologetic tone.

Harry was shocked. She had said she was sorry about his parents. No one had ever said that to him, not even the social workers at the orphanage. He just stood there staring at her like she was an alien, causing her to shift nervously under his gaze.

"Could you – could you stop looking at me like that please? It's rather unsettling." Realising he hadn't stopped looking at her for a good ten seconds, Harry apologised and explained that no one had ever said that to him before and she had just surprised him. Both Hermione and Neville looked shocked at this, and, wanting to change the subject, Harry sat back down whilst asking Hermione about the book she was reading.

Hermione immediately brightened up and started to talk all about what she had learned about Hogwarts in the book, sitting down next to Harry and across from Neville, who had also seated himself.

* * *

For the next two hours, Harry, Hermione and Neville chatted all about the magical and muggle worlds, the things Hermione had learned about Hogwarts, and the magic they would learn over the next year. As time passed by, the train started to fill up with students arriving and putting their things away.

"The train should be leaving soon," Hermione commented, "I can't wait until the we start moving. 'Hogwarts: A History' says that the engine is powered by magic!"

"Better than that, the Weasleys are gonna arrive soon." Said Neville, but when both Hermione and Harry looked at him quizzically, not knowing who 'the Weasleys' were, Neville slapped a hand to his forehead and exclaimed, "Oh my god, you don't even know who the Weasleys are! I'm never going to get used to this. Essentially, ten years ago there was this Dark Lord who was so terrible, nobody would even say his name. To be fair, nobody says his name these days either, he was that terrible. People refer to him as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but his real name is… his real name is – Lord V-Voldemort." Neville trembled slightly when he said the name, and Harry and Hermione looked at each other with confused expressions, but Neville continued with the story.

"Anyway You-Know-Who believed that wizards who are what we call 'purebloods' are more magically powerful the muggleborns, like you guys, and that the wizarding world should oust all the muggleborns to preserve its magic. It's total rubbish, there are plenty of purebloods who are rubbish at magic and muggleborns who are amazing at it, but You-Know-Who decided that he would go to war with the world to make the changes he wanted. He was incredibly powerful; people say the only person he feared was Albus Dumbledore.

"One night he amassed his forces and attacked the Ministry building itself, but whilst his forces and the Ministry's fought a huge battle, he went to the Weasley's house to try and kill their youngest son, Ron Weasley. No one knows why he did, but it's said that when he tried to kill the baby the curse he used rebounded and killed him. Ron Weasley has been heralded as a hero by the wizarding world ever since, and is probably the most famous wizard alive.

"The reason him surviving is so remarkable, is that Voldemort tried to kill him with the Killing Curse, one of the only spells in the world that cannot be defended against using magic. Thing is, the Killing Curse is supposed to be impossible to survive; no one in history has ever done it. Ever.

"Anyway, the Weasleys are also renowned for turning up to the Hogwarts Express as late as they possibly can. It started the first year after You-Know-Who's defeat, when Molly Weasley and her brood showed up two minutes before the train's departure, and when everyone started applauding they just decided to turn it into their own thing. The Weasleys would always bring Ron even though he wasn't going on the train just so people could meet him, and now that he's finally coming to Hogwarts there'll be an even bigger commotion."

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, "So… when are they going to arrive?"

As if on cue, there came a shout from the corridor outside their compartment. "It's the Weasleys, the Weasleys are here!" Neville stood up and opened the compartment door, stepping out into the student-filled hallway. Harry and Hermione quickly followed suit, eager to catch a glimpse of the Weasleys' arrival themselves.

Harry pushed a path through the mob of older students with Hermione right behind him, and found his way to one of the wide windows that looked over the station. Sure enough, a group of redheaded wizards, and one witch, stood on the platform waving at the crowd that had gathered around them, revelling in the applause that was given to them. At least, the parents and their youngest son were, the other three wizards looked as though they would rather be anywhere else in that moment than where they were.

The youngest boy, who many of the older students were pointing to and chattering about excitedly, was waving to the crowd arrogantly and smiling widely. Harry pointed him out to Hermione and said, "That must be that Ron boy."

The sound of a whistle blow rang across the station, and the youngest four of the ginger wizards hurriedly made their way onto the train. Harry and Hermione went back into their compartment, and were soon joined by an excited looking Neville. "He's in our year!" he exclaimed looking as though the idea was positively thrilling, "We'll get to have classes with him! We might even get put in the same house as him, and then he'll be in our dorm! I've heard that all the Weasleys get put in Gryffindor, and if he could defeat a dark lord I'll bet that would get him in!" Neville seemed to say this all in one breathe, and Harry was surprised that he managed it without passing out.

"Brave?" asked Hermione, clearly doubting what Neville had said, "He was and infant when it happened. And how do people even know what happened, was anyone there?"

Neville stopped enthusing about the youngest Weasley and looked stumped by what Hermione had said, as if the very idea that Ronald Weasley wasn't a national hero was an impossibility. It was clear that he had never even considered what Hermione had asked, but could not think of any evidence that proved the boy's valiant defeat of the dark wizard.

"But – But – But he's Ron Weasley! He's – He's a hero!" He spluttered, looking pleadingly at Harry as if asking for his assistance.

Harry smirked amusedly and said, "She's got a point, Neville. And to be honest, he seems like a bit of an arse."

Hermione gasped when he said this and he looked at her in confusion, nothing he had said was that scandalous. "Language!" She admonished, blushing furiously as though he had just announced his wish to sleep with his own grandmother. Harry and Neville both laughed at this, finding Hermione's reaction to be rather amusing. Hermione smiled shyly too, before joining in with the others' laughter.

* * *

About ten minutes into the train ride they heard movement outside their compartment, like a large group of people were walking along the corridor and laughing loudly. Before long, the noise arrived out side their compartment, and the door was opened.

Standing in the doorway, smirking as if he was god's gift to man and he knew it, was the ginger boy from the station, Ron Weasley. Behind him was a gaggle of older students, all looking as though simply being in his presence was like Christmas come early.

"So," he began inspecting the inhabitants of the compartment like they were cattle he was considering buying, "Who do we have in here?"

Neville stood up abruptly, a similar expression on his face to those in the corridor, and stretched out his hand to shake Ron's, his mouth agape. "N-Neville, Neville Longbottom. It's – It's an honour to meet you… sir." Harry winced internally when he called Ron 'sir', but Ron grinned and shook his hand, looking him up and down before commenting, "Longbottom… yes, I've heard of the Longbottoms. Your parents fought at the ministry, right?"

Neville looked positively thrilled at what Ron had said, and quickly replied, "Yes, yes that's right! How did you know?" Ron just looked at him with his best impression of wisdom, which wasn't very convincing, and said, "I make a habit of knowing all those who are loyal to my cause."

Harry was stunned. Did this eleven-year-old boy really have that much of a god complex that he believed this war against Voldemort that Neville had told him about was 'his cause'? Ron turned from Neville to inspect Harry and Hermione, looking them up and down before raising one eyebrow and asking, "And you are?" Neville, wanting to get to speak to Ron again, said, "This is Hermione Granger and Harry Payne."

Ron looked Harry and Hermione up and down once more, before saying, "Granger and Payne… I haven't heard of your families before. You must be muggleborns." Harry and Hermione both gave him indignant looks, which caused him to frown and say, "You know, it's _your_ lot that should be most grateful to me. If it wasn't for me, you'd most likely be dead by now."

Harry stared at him in disbelief, not believing the level of arrogance displayed by the boy in front of him. Hermione on the other hand looked positively furious, and told him in a very sarcastic voice, "Well, _Mr Weasley_, we're both _eternally_ grateful to you. However I do wish you might leave us be, as it's getting rather stuffy in here what with the size of your massively inflated ego."

Both Ron and Neville looked shocked at Hermione's words, and the gaggle of followers standing in the hallway went silent. It was blatantly apparent that nobody had ever spoken to Ron that way, and he was shocked. He stood where he was for a moment, before starting to shake with rage.

"No one asked your opinion you worthless muggleborn whore." He spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Nobody dared move in that moment, everyone present was waiting to see what Hermione would do. She stood by Harry's side, a look of pure disgust on her face, before she raised her hand and slapped Ron with a resounding 'smack' across his face.

Ron appeared totally stunned, as if it hadn't even occurred to him that there might be repercussions for her actions. He stood there stupidly, staring at Hermione. He blinked, before realising that he had overstayed his welcome and turned on his heel, marching out the compartment, muttering to his posse about how, "That bitch will get what she deserves."

The compartment door closed with a slam, and Harry and Neville stared at Hermione in shock. So far they had only seen the composed, intelligent girl who enthused about learning and hated swearing, when all of a sudden they had been exposed to the violent and vengeful witch that had slapped the Boy-Who-Lived.

Pointing a shaking finger at Hermione, Neville said, "Y-You hit Ron Weasley. You hit the Boy-Who-Lived! Do you realise what you've done! We'll be social pariahs when this gets out! I'll never make any friends at this rate." Neville sat down despairingly.

Looking quite irritated, Hermione huffed and said, "Neville, you heard what he called me. How could I not slap him?" Neville looked up at her only to see her glaring at him, as if daring him to dispute it. Neville wisely kept his mouth shut, "And you already have friends, me and Harry certainly won't treat you like a pariah, will we Harry. Harry?" Harry was staring at Hermione with wide eyes, not believing what he had just witnessed.

"Harry, are you all right?" Asked Hermione, slightly concerned at the way he was staring at her. Harry just shook his head and responded, "That was bloody brilliant Hermione."

Hermione blushed and admonished his choice of vocabulary, but it was clear she was trying, to hide a smile.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, and Harry, Hermione and Neville disembarked with their trunks, before loading them onto the trunk cart.

"Firs' years wi' me!" Bellowed a huge man who stood on the Platform waiting for the arriving students, at least 7 feet tall and 3 feet wide. He had a big bushy beard and a squashed face, and wore a fur trench coat that seemed to be made purely out of pockets. A large gathering of the youngest students formed around him, and he started counting heads, only to stop when he got muddled and just led the ones he had.

"I am Hagrid, Keeper o' Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," He said as he led them towards a huge lake, "and I will be taking you up to the castle. As yer firs' years, you'll be rowin' 'cross the lake to get to the opening feast, whilst everyone else takes carriages. Next year, and all the years after tha', you'll take the carriages too."

Hagrid strode towards the array of boats located at the shore of the loch, the gaggle of first years struggling to match his stride. He gestured towards the small sea vessels and told the students, "Three to a boat, no more, no less."

Hagrid clambered into one of the boats himself, and it visibly sunk about half a meter in the water. Harry, Hermione and Neville took one of the boats, and it started to move in the direction Hagrid had gone on its own, causing Hermione to squeal and grab Harry's arm for support.

The boats glided across the iridescent water towards the looming castle that stood tall and proud upon the mountainside. Great grey cliffs held up the school, and Harry saw the cave beneath that they were being taken to. Hearing a ripple to his right, Harry turned to see a giant tentacle rising out of the water, 8 feet long and a deep purple.

Harry nearly fell out of the boat, but Hagrid called, "Don't mind Boris, he's just saying 'ello." As if to emphasise the point, Boris waved the huge tentacle he had raised out of the water in greeting. After calming down from his near heart attack, Harry realised that they had come quite close to the cliff face and the cave.

The boats entered the cave and Harry felt the temperature rise ever so slightly. The rough rock of the cave walls was lit up by the moonlight reflected on the water, and Harry thought it looked quite beautiful. At the back of the cave came a dim glowing light, and as they approached Harry realised that it was in fact an elderly woman holding a wand up with a glowing tip.

The boat slowed as it approached the shore at the back of the cave, and the three stepped out onto the pebble beach. The elderly witch with the wand waited for all the students to disembark from the boats, before introducing herself, "My name is Professor McGonagall. I am the Transfiguration Professor here at Hogwarts, and Head of Gryffindor House. Follow me, please."

She commanded an air of obedience simply by talking, and Harry knew at once that she wasn't someone he should cross. She led them up a staircase that was carved into the back of the cave, and into a grand chamber lit by large braziers. A huge door stood on the far side of the room, at least twenty feet tall, which Professor McGonagall led them towards. The doors opened by themselves, revealing an enormous hall with hundreds of students sitting at four long tables, seemingly with colour-coordinated robes.

The first years were led to the back of the hall, in front of a long table perpendicular to the others that the teachers sat at, including Professor Dumbledore who sat on a large gold throne in the middle. A wooden stool was placed before the crowd of new students, and an old patchy hat on top of it. The whole hall fell into silence, and Harry was just wondering what was supposed to happen next, when the hat opened at the brim and began to sing.

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_"

The hat finished its song, and the school broke out into applause.

"When your name is called out, sit on the stool and place the hat on your head." Said Professor McGonagall, pulling out a sheet of parchment.

"Abbot, Hannah." Said Professor McGonagall. A redheaded girl with pigtails walked up to the stool and put the hat on her head. The hat seemed to think for a moment, before deciding, "Hufflepuff!" Professor McGonagall continued to call upon students who were the subsequently sorted by the hat.

"Boot, Terry."

"Ravenclaw!"

"Brown, Lavender."

"Gryffindor!"

"Brocklehurst, Mandy."

"Ravenclaw!"

This went on for a while, and Harry only really paid attention when Neville and Hermione were called up, who were both put in Gryffindor. Eventually, Professor McGonagall called out, "Payne, Harry."

Harry steeled himself and walked up to the stool, lifting up the hat and placing it on his head. It was rather large and slid down over his eyes, engulfing him in darkness.

All of a sudden, Harry heard a voice in his head, "Now let's see what we have he- oh my! Now this _is_ interesting." The voice sounded genuinely intrigued by Harry, as if he were an especially interesting animal, "You are not 'Harry Payne', no you're someone very different. My, my, we do seem to have a conundrum on our hands, so to speak." He chuckled at his joke.

"Do you know who I am?" Harry thought, hoping the hat would be able to hear him. Laughing, the hat replied, "Yes, I do know who you are, but I won't tell you. It'll be much more entertaining to watch you figure it out."

Harry's mind was travelling at a thousand miles an hour, trying to put together what the hat had said. It knew who his parents where but wouldn't tell him? That seemed a bit cruel.

As if knowing what he was thinking, which it probably did, the hat laughed again and said, "There isn't any point trying to convince me otherwise. I've kept far greater secrets than yours in my one thousand years."

Realising he wasn't going to get an answer out of it, Harry asked it, "Could you just get on with the sorting then? I'd rather not sit here looking like an idiot whilst the whole school watches me." The hat chuckled and said, "Alright then, where would you like to be placed? I can see that you'd fit in just about all the houses, but I do like to take the pupil's wishes into account."

"Gryffindor," Replied Harry, wanting to join Hermione and Neville, "That's where you put my friends." Harry couldn't see the hat, but he got the impression that it was smiling.

"Very well… Gryffindor!" it said the last part out loud, and Harry removed it from his head before walking over to the applauding Gryffindor table where he sat between Neville and Hermione.

The rest of the sorting passed uneventfully, until Professor McGonagall called out, "Weasley, Ronald." The whole of the Great Hall held its breath, everyone waiting to see which house would get the great Ron Weasley. Harry desperately hoped that he wouldn't be put in Gryffindor.

Ron stepped up to the stool and sat down, placing the hat on his head, which almost immediately announced, "Gryffindor!" Harry's groan was drowned out by the deafening roar of celebration that came from the rest of the Gryffindor table. Could this day really get any worse?

* * *

Harry and the other Gryffindors make their way to Gryffindor tower, following the Weasley prefect, Ron's older brother. The password was, according to Percy, 'butterbeer', which, Neville had informed Harry and Hermione, was supposed to be a very nice beverage.

To Harry's left, he heard a voice say, "Look at the ickle firsties Fred, they're all so innocent and easily prankable, it's like Christmas come early." Harry turned to see a redheaded boy slightly taller than him looking around at the new students in wonderment. Harry recognised him as one of the Weasleys from the station. The reply came from his right side, as an identical boy said, "Too true, Fred, brother of mine. They won't know what hit them. Speaking of brothers, where is ickle Ronniekins, we wouldn't want him running off and getting into trouble. Mum would most likely castrate us both if anything were to _befall_ him." He put extra emphasis on the word 'befall', as if he wished nothing more than for that exact thing to happen to his brother.

"You're Weasleys, aren't you." Said Harry, looking at the twin on his left who had spoken first. The boy frowned and said, "So what if we are. It doesn't make us better than anyone, and we won't help you become friends with _ickle Ronniekins._" The tone of disgust in his voice as he said his brother's name alone was enough to convince Harry that he wasn't anything like Ron, so he quickly said, "I don't want to be friends with that pompous git. I much rather like the sound of you two. I'm Harry, by the way, Harry Payne." He extended his hand towards the boy on his left, who shook it, before he turned and repeated the gesture with the boy on his right.

"I'm Fred, Fred Weasley," said the boy on the right, "And this is my brother, Fred."

"I'm George you idiot."

"I thought I was George?"

"Well you introduced yourself as Fred so that makes me George."

"Fair enough."

Harry watched their interaction in amusement, like a tennis match between a couple of confused clowns. Turning to him, the first twin said, "We forgot which one of us is which a long time ago, and so we just decide to use whichever name we feel like at the time. If you like, you can just call us Gred and Forge." Harry laughed at his explanation, but was cut off by Percy's call for silence as they arrived at a large painting of a rather overweight lady.

"Butterbeer." Said Percy, apparently addressing the lady in the portrait who was moving like all the other paintings in the castle. With an audible 'creak', the portrait swung forwards, hinged to the wall on one side, and revealed a short passageway.

Percy walked through the passageway, followed by the rest of the Gryffindors, and into a large common room with red and gold drapes along every wall. The circular room housed many sofas and tables, as well as a large fireplace on one wall. On the opposite side of the room was a staircase leading up. Percy informed the first years that it would lead to their dormitories, while the older pupils started filing up the stairs.

Harry, Neville, Ron and the other Gryffindor first year boys, Seamus and Dean, walked up the stairs until they got to their dormitory and entered it, looking around at the smartly decorated sleeping quarters that shared the same colour scheme as the common room. Harry walked over to the closest bed, which had his name displayed on the headboard on a gold plaque, and found his trunk sitting at the foot of it.

"I want first shower." Announced Ron, as if the matter was settled. Harry gave him a withering look before commenting, "You could have just asked nicely. We're hardly likely to dispute it if you're polite." Harry heard Seamus gasp, he had expected that with him coming from wizarding family, but nothing from Neville, which surprised him. He turned to look at him and saw him glaring at Ron in silent agreement. Ron looked between the two of them and said, "I don't need to listen you, _muggleborn_."

Dean glared at Ron too after he said this, and, realising he had lost the crowd, Ron stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. "What a twat." Commented Dean, scowling and walking over to his bed. Seamus looked like he was going to say something, but Neville just shook his head and said, "Forget it, mate, they're right. He may be famous, but he's still a right arse."

* * *

Word count: 6547

I should explain to you guys my reasoning for Ron's behaviour in this chapter. As you know from canon, Ron is really jealous of Harry and just wants to be famous, so when he is given fame in this it goes to his head big time. He uses the term 'muggleborn' as an insult, as muggleborns are generally the only people he interacts with that don't know who he is, and so he associates muggleborns with the only people who don't get on their knees for him immediately. I'm not just taking Draco Malfoy and renaming him, Ron certainly isn't a bigot, he's just big-headed and very stupid.

**BONUS INFORMATION **(Comments)

The Kishin Sesshomaru-Kurai: I love how he's essentially doing the exact same thing to Harry that he did that ultimately made Tom into the monster he was

_Hadn't thought about that, good point! I suppose I suppose that it wasn't actually Dumbledore who put Tom at the orphanage, but by leaving him there and neglecting him he creating a demon. The fact hat he is now deliberately recreating the circumstances is worrying to say the least._

_Thanks for the review, hope to hear your opinion on this chapter. Never stop reviewing!_

LilyClaw: Why would he leave Harry in an orphanage? Did he think somehow that if he put Harry there, he would be able to control it because he put that mysterious spell on him? Or did he just not want Lily and James to find out that their baby was gone, but they couldn't find him? I love the story so far, it sounds like something I've sort of heard before, but not in this way. Fantastic job, although I still have lots of questions. Like why did Dumbledore tell Molly that Ron was the BWL? Like that makes no sense, but I get that he doesn't want to tell everyone that Harry defeated him. He could've just said, "oh, Voldimort's dead," and show proof. He could've used that spell to hide Harry's scar, and then they'd find out about it. Sorry for the long review. :p

_Great comment, love this. Dumbledore left Harry in the orphanage to lower his self-esteem and his view of his own self-worth, so that when Dumbledore needed Harry to sacrifice himself, he would do it for the man who had basically given him a new life (that's why he went to the orphanage himself, to be the first wizard Harry meets)._

_He doesn't want James and Lily to find their son, because they would show him love and that would interfere with Dumbledore's attempts to lower his self-esteem (hence the mysterious spell)._

_Dumbledore told Molly that Ron was the Boy-Who-Lived partly to distract people from the disappearance of the Potters' son, and partly so that nobody would suspect that Harry was the one the prophecy spoke of. In this world, Dumbledore didn't tell the Potters or Longbottoms why they had to go into hiding, just that it related to a prophecy. He didn't even tell them who else was in hiding, but as the couples were friends they knew about each other. I feel like this makes more sense with the manipulative avenue I'm sending Dumbledore down._

_If Dumbledore had just claimed that the most powerful dark wizard alive had just up and died without any evident cause he would have been laughed at. Voldemort was famous for his fear of death, and nobody would have believed that he could have been finished off without something truly spectacular._

_Not quite sure what you mean by "_He could've used that spell to hide Harry's scar, and then they'd find out about it._" Could you elaborate in your next review? Would love to hear more from you._

_Please, do not apologise for such a brilliant comment. I urge you all to write more reviews like these, they're the reason I write this stuff!_

decadenceofmysoul: Awesome start!

_Thank you so much! Even the shortest of reviews are better than no reviews at all. In fact, any review at all is better than no review, even if it's a death threat. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that if you don't review, I will consider it to be worse than a death threat. Don't stop reviewing!_

Guest: It's a good chapter. I'm just wondering how the heck Dumbles plans to keep this from blowing up in his face immediately. It doesn't seem possible.

_As I mentioned in the author's note at the beginning of the chapter, the spell that Dumbledore cast on Harry should keep his plans on track. I will go into more detail in the future about what the spell was and how it works, but for now you'll just have to bear with me! To give you some idea, James and Lily spent ten years searching for Harry with James as Head of the DMLE, and yet they still couldn't find him (as shown in the scene before we meet Harry)._

_Thanks for the review! Keep it up!_

Tenjo: I hope Harry wises up fast, as this'll just be painful to read if it's just a repetitive story about Harry bending over or jumping through hoops for the old dickhead. Don't know how I feel about the James/Lily pairing, it always struck me as strange, James seems too stupid to be with Lily.

_I won't reveal anything about future plot happenings, but don't worry, Dumbledore will be exposed eventually! I feel like the reason that James and Lily are a couple is because of how different they are. Lily sticks to the rules, whilst James lives to break them, and subsequently Lily is the only person who can reign him in whilst James can make her laugh no matter what. In the books, James is described to be very smart, smarter maybe than even Lily, but had poor grades due to his lack of effort and poor behaviour._

_In my world, I'm going to write a more mature James who hasn't forsaken his old pranking ways, but has certainly learned the line (something Sirius has yet to achieve) and taken up his responsibilities._

_Thank you very much for the comment, please review this chapter too!_

Jslee102: Has potential. I would have liked to know a little more about the Potter lives. Did they have another child? Interested to see what house he is in. I am trying to determine how arrogant Ron will be. I could see Percy being that way, the twins, maybe not.

_I am going to reveal it in another chapter, but it isn't that much of a surprise that it would be wrong to spoil it here. The Potters never had another child, but it wasn't because Lily didn't want one. It was because James refused to have one. Lily had a lot of trouble whilst having Harry, and was their third attempt at a child. Having seen how Lily had reacted after her first two miscarriages, James knows that another failed attempt at a baby could possibly push her too far, especially after the loss of Harry._

_James does want to have a family with Lily, but he isn't willing to risk Lily's health for the chance at one. James's reluctance to have a chance is based purely out of concern for Lily._

_Thanks for the review, I hope to hear from you on this next chapter!_

GreatestPanic: Even with magic, leaving a fifteen month old baby alone in a house is some form of child neglect. And I, a fellow Brit, will absolutely britpick you on one fundamental error in your premise. Orphanages did not exist in the 1980's. They were a defunct system replaced by the foster care system. Even if Harry was dropped on the steps of a group foster home he would have immediately been moved to a home with a foster family, since he was still a toddler and would have been the subject of a police investigation into his identity and abandonment. He might have moved between foster families as he grew up (some foster carers specialise in babies/toddlers or short term placements) and might even have ended up in a group home. Also potential adopters don't just wander into a hall, meet all the kids and pick which one to take home. There are catalogues and private meetings because they're children, not dogs. Repeating a year during primary or secondary school is fantastically rare. You can't fail Year 7, they'd just move you up to Year 8 and get you extra help. Even if you fail your GCSE's you don't repeat a year, you can just retake them at sixth form.

_I was actually aware of both of these things, but used them for various reasons._

_I felt like the term 'foster home' sounded far to nurturing to suit Dumbledore's requirements, whilst the word 'orphanage' brings to mind miserable children and loveless houses. If he gets put at an orphanage, I can claim all sorts of horrible things happening to him whilst he is resident there._

_This is also true for the whole 'orphan exhibition' thing, to further emphasize to the theme of Harry being sad and unloved._

_I said that Craig redid year 7 to emphasise quite how stupid he was, not to actually serve any purpose. The same goes with the comment about the GCSE's, but very nice britpicking! _

_Great comment, even though I was aware of these mistakes I know that I'm sure to make more in the future, and I hope you will be there to catch me when I do. Permission to britpick granted!_

Hoegh: love it

_And I love you. Please, review me daddy._

Antisado: Romantic light? Really?

_Did I forget to mention? This is a Harry/Tom smut fic, get ready for chapter three because it's just pure fucking. Just kidding, I meant romantic in the poetic sense, not the love one._

_Thanks for the review!_

That concludes this chapter's **bonus information**, review to get your very own **bonus information**!

Review or JK Rowling will punch you in the spleen.


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